Shear Insanity
by LadyDivine91
Summary: Stressed out after a bad day, Blaine seeks the comfort - and advice - of a trusted professional. Klaine. Kurt H. Blaine A.


**Notes: Written for the Klaine Advent Drabble Challenge 2018 Day 1 prompts snowman/athlete.**

"Ah. The coveted superstar Blaine Anderson." Kurt smiles as his favorite client rushes through the door. He hadn't expected to see Blaine that afternoon, but the second he called, Kurt found a way to squeeze him into his packed schedule. "Hello, love. How's it going?"

"Take it off!" Blaine demands, dropping heavily into Kurt's chair without invitation and reclining uncomfortably in the stiff seat. "Take it _all_ off!"

" _Excuse me_?" Kurt snaps, folding his arms over his chest, far from amused by Blaine's tone.

"Uh … I mean …" Blaine stutters, peeking up at the man standing in front of him with apologetic eyes "… take it off … please?"

Kurt doesn't move, his scolding eyes don't budge from Blaine's face, and Blaine sighs, melting into the vinyl of the seat beneath him like a snowman one week into the new spring thaw.

"I'm sorry," Blaine says. "It's just … been that kind of a day."

Kurt steps forward. He puts firm hands on Blaine's knees and pries them a few more inches apart so he can slide in between. He runs his hands through Blaine's hair, threading his fingers through his springy curls. "Take a deep breath," he says, "and tell me, why you would ask me for that?"

"Because it's your job?" Blaine answers meekly.

Kurt grabs a handful of Blaine's curls and tugs gently in reprimand. "Try again."

Blaine sighs once more, deflating him further. "Because … my curls make me look like an adult toddler – cute instead of handsome, and two-dimensional. When people see them, they don't take me seriously. And the damned things don't stay put, _no matter what I do_!"

Kurt frowns at that remark, at the edge Blaine adds to it, since Kurt was the one who convinced him to give his poor head a break and stop weighing it down with the literal pounds of gel he'd been using to glue his curls in place. But Blaine continues, and Kurt bites his tongue.

"I'm tired of being cast as the second-hand comic relief. I'm always the lovable father, the funny neighbor, the supportive teacher ..."

"And what's wrong with those roles?" Kurt grabs a bottle of oil from his workstation, squeezes a dollop into his palm, and starts massaging Blaine's scalp. "They pay the rent, don't they? They pay _me_ …"

Kurt reclines the chair for Blaine and Blaine sinks into it, more naturally than he'd been before. He rests his head back, and Kurt continues his massage. But as Blaine relaxes, his expression fades, giving way to what's been hidden underneath this whole time.

He looks done in, about ready to throw in the towel.

Blaine mentioned having an audition today, for a part in a brand new Broadway musical.

From the look on Blaine's face, it mustn't have gone good.

Kurt understands. He knows how it feels to be pigeonholed. That's one of the reasons he gave up acting himself.

"They've been very good roles for you," Kurt continues in a soft, soothing voice. "They play off your strengths. They bring out your natural ability to nurture, your good humor, your kindness and compassion …"

"But, I wanna be sexy," Blaine whines through loose lips. "I don't want to be the good-natured _anything_. I want to be the bad boy overcoming a dark past … the mysterious recluse that everyone suspects is a multiple murderer … the hardened athlete with a chip on his shoulder …"

Kurt lets a smile slip (since Blaine's eyes are shut) at the thought of Blaine playing a multiple murderer. He can't see it. Not his adorable, bushy-headed Blaine. But that's why he'd be so good at it. It would be the twist no one would expect.

"And I have complete faith that you could be all those things." Kurt suddenly pictures his straight-laced little Thursday afternoon special switching out his cardigans and bowties for a leather motorcycle jacket, white t-shirt clinging to his chest, a Marlboro cigarette pinched between his full lips. A prop cigarette though. Just for show. Kurt can't stand cigarettes, but it completes the bad boy image.

And that image is _smokin'_ (pun not intended).

"But those aren't the roles you audition for," Kurt continues, switching positions to subtly readjust what's starting to become a wicked hard-on. "If you audition for the role of the lovable-but-otherwise-sexless-sidekick, that's who you're going to be. But, to your benefit, you do it so well."

Blaine opens one sleepy eye and mildly glares at Kurt, but he doesn't object because Kurt is right. But that's not entirely his fault.

"Those are the roles my agent finds me. Even when I ask him not to."

"Then fire your agent," Kurt says without a thought, as if this is advice he's been dying to give Blaine since he started sitting in his chair. "Find someone who will get you auditions for the roles you want, not the roles they think you're a shoe-in for." Kurt leans in, fingertips still massaging circles into Blaine's crown, and whispers, "Find someone who sees you for all the things you are. Not just your lovable and goofy side. But hot, sexy, tortured, emotional, deeply affected … and absolutely wonderful."

Blaine smiles. "Will you be my agent?"

"I wish I could, but I can't, love," Kurt says, pausing his massage only long enough to grab a hot towel from the counter. "I think that would be considered a conflict of interest. However, I know a few people. I'll give you their cards."

"So, I keep the curls but I lose my agent?" Blaine sums up.

"It's for the best."

Blaine chuckles. He sounds drunk, but at least he sounds happy. "You know, hair stylists give the best advice."

"True." Kurt leans over Blaine's body and drops a kiss on his lips. "But it probably doesn't hurt that I'm also your husband."


End file.
